


Can Be A Handful!

by ph0ques



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Confessions, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, a story by bokuto koutarou, not in a sexual way - Freeform, subtlety? don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ph0ques/pseuds/ph0ques
Summary: Bokuto couldn’t stop thinking of Akaashi’s pale hands, worn from years of volleyball and violin-plucking and nervous habits. Found he paid more attention to the way he held a pencil, loose and careful as he tapped it against the book than he did the chemistry question Akaashi had been kind enough to explain. The guilt is easy to dismiss when Akaashi snorts after the third time he had to repeat it, more amused than upset.alternatively; Bokuto thinks Akaashi's hands are pretty, and he's not very subtle about it
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, implied Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke
Comments: 5
Kudos: 193





	Can Be A Handful!

Akaashi Keiji’s hands are bigger than his.

It’s a sudden realization, something Bokuto only notices months after Akaashi is bumped up to first-choice setter, and they’re in the middle of a practice match against Shinzen during a training camp. They’re winning, of course- because Shinzen is good but they’re _better_ and Bokuto is confident enough in his own skills but he’s so much _better_ with this new first year setter tossing to him even when he’s on the verge of a mental collapse, even when Akaashi _knows_ he’s on the verge of faltering in his confidence.

They’ve been playing games all day, and this last rally stretched on forever with Shinzen so desperate to keep up because there’s some sort of bet he honestly doesn’t remember and it's a match point for Fukurodani. The ball goes to Konoha, ever so reliable as he gets up a perfect receive for Akaashi, and he finds himself moving before he hears the tell-tale _“Bokuto-san”,_ his body all excited energy as he jumps and the ball is _right there._ It’s perfect, just high enough, just far enough and he feels the sting on his palm and the _bam!_ Of the impact and he’s shouting before he’s actually had time to process, arms up because _“did you see that straight?”_

The team descends on him like a pack of vultures, except for those who just drop to the sweat covered court like the heathens they actually are and he’s more worried about the bruises he knows Komi’s third punch will leave than he is the bruise that’s bound to appear on his knee from a stupid dig but-

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, arms raised for a high five and Bokuto will admit to feeling a burst of warmth and happiness as their hands meet. Akaashi looks tired, and exasperated with Bokuto’s boundless energy and it shows in the way he barely moves. “Good job today.”

It’s in that split second that the setter doesn’t move that he notices; he’s known since the first time he saw him set that he had long, long fingers. It was obvious and hard to miss when Akaashi fidgeted with them so much but it’s the first time Bokuto is noticing that his whole _hand_ is big. It doesn’t dwarf Bokuto’s per se, but the tips of his finger extend past his own and his palm is wider and Akaashi is so much smaller and leaner he’s not exactly sure how that even works but he’s already being pushed off the court, his arms dangling uselessly in the air, Akaashi already at the bench drinking water. He huffs, puffing out his chest and follows suit, downing whatever remains of his water bottle as Yukie hands it to him with a knowing look and he’s not entirely sure why but he never is.

Bokuto feels justified ignoring it when Yukie ignores his chorus of “What, what, what?”

They watch Shinzen do diving laps for a moment before Bokuto is bored of laughing and gloating because they’re reforming the team and they used a few of their first years for most of the rounds yet they still had the upper hand! Konoha says skill. Komi says luck. Bokuto thinks he’s amazing, and so is their team. Ubugawa and Nekoma had finished their game a while back, so Bokuto scampers off to bug Kuroo, the middle blocker in the same year he had quickly befriended the first practice match they met.

Even after he blocked out multiple of his spikes in a row.

He scowls for a second, remembering how frustrating that first practice match had been, how long it had taken him to adjust. Kuroo is always fun to play with, even when he’s sweaty and tired from trying to destroy a team that’s basically on par with them. He pauses for a moment and thinks, it’s surprisingly easier to do so with Akaashi here though. Kuroo claims it’s because Kenma has yet to be given a starter position.

Bokuto suddenly stills halfway over to Nekoma’s side of the gym, turning on his heel a little too fast and a little too hard, wobbling as he lands, eyes already darting around. Usually, he has no trouble finding his new potential partner, and that still stands when he zeroes in on the other boy. He sees Akaashi talking to their coach, back straight, hands settled behind himself but his fingers are still fidgeting, nervous about something - he always seems nervous about something - but polite as ever as he listens and nods and responds.

He’s tempted to jog back and listen in on their conversation. Maybe the coaches had advice for him too. Maybe Akaashi would let them compare hands _properly,_ because he didn’t actually get a good look and it’s suddenly very important to him to stop those fidgety fingers even if it’s not his place.

“Hey owl-boy, didn’t your mother teach you staring is rude!?” It’s Kuroo, because of course it’s Kuroo and his mouselike friend standing beside him paying no attention to them. Bokuto rarely sees him without a gaming system between his hands during free time, but he’s also seen Kuroo shove it in his own pockets to force him into doing things.

Bokuto realizes he was staring, but Akaashi is interesting so his staring is reasonable but he won’t say this out loud because Kuroo will tease him regardless of the fact Bokuto has watched him stare all gooey-eyed and gross at Yaku despite the inherently violent and argumentative nature of their relationship at the beginning and, well, currently too he supposes. He wonders what Kuroo finds appealing about being kicked in the ass regularly.

Instead of asking, Bokuto shrieks, barrels towards his best friend and ignores the relief he feels with the new distraction.

**_————_ **

Akaashi has really nice hands, Bokuto finds himself thinking not even weeks later during lunch, watching him idly pick at his rice balls with furrow in his brow, clearly thinking, clearly fidgeting, Bokuto almost wants to tell him to stop. He doesn’t, because he thinks it would give him less of a reason to look at Akaashi and his hands. The younger boy might tuck his hands away, overthinking his words when really it's just because it's distracting and Akaashi should be _eating,_ they have practice later and he already looks tired twenty-four-seven with the proper nutrients stored in his lean body.

Konoha and Komi are laughing at Sarukui about something. It might have to do with the girl that had tried to confess to him earlier today. Bokuto isn’t paying attention.

He enjoys spending time with his friends outside of volleyball. All the second years spend their lunch together, Akaashi a more recent addition to their group. He doesn’t connect well with a majority of the first years, apparently. Too mature, too serious for them but also too young for the third years, he found it easiest to settle among them and that brings some sort of weird delight because he’d been so surprised by how Akaashi accepted his invite to eat with them at lunch that first time, and then the second time, and the rest of the time after that.

Akaashi only ever skips lunch with them if he has other things to do, like homework or tutoring because of course Akaashi was smart and studious enough to help other students.

It’s how he starts learning more about Akaashi; he likes onigiri and boiled rapeseed plants, even though Bokuto thinks it's absurd someones favourite food is a vegetable, files his nails short whenever he’s too anxious to focus on something else, knows several random facts about owls, tapes and untapped his fingers before games, plays violin when he isn’t playing volleyball, drums his fingers against every available surface if he can (including Bokuto’s thighs when he’s really distracted. It’s distracting), and has no siblings and parents that are rarely home because international lawyers and doctors travel more than anything. Akaashi’s English is very good and so is his Korean but Bokuto can’t say he’s surprised when he learns this.

Akaashi seems to be good at a lot of things, even if he doesn't realize it.

It’s little tidbits he finds out from watching him closely, sometimes Akaashi will tell him these odd facts offhandedly, or whenever Bokuto pesters him enough. Most times it’s from conversational contribution on his more present days, or from his study sessions with him because Akaashi is also smart and studious enough to understand material a year above him, with just the bare minimum amount of guidance from Sarukui or Washio. In return, he's always happy to provide insight on material he himself knows the first year will have to deal with.

Konoha throws a pea at his head.

Bokuto blinks mindlessly, dazed as he looks up from where he’s staring at an empty desk, before his eyes find the others staring at him with varying looks of disappointment and amusement, Akaashi included.

“What?” He asks, already knowing he sounds a little too defensive.

“Akaashi and I are going to the vending machines. Did you want something?” 

“Oh, uh, don’t have any money on me.”

Sarukui snorts this time, and he sees Akaashi roll his eyes and feels a wave of embarrassment flash for a moment. He must have missed something in the few minutes he spaced out. 

“I’m paying Bokuto-san. Peach?” Peach because of course he would remember what kind of juice Bokuto likes best. Sometimes, when he starts rambling about peaches having less than seventy calories and three grams of fibers thinking that maybe Akaashi has finally learnt to tune him out the same way Washio has, only to be pleasantly surprised when the setter mentions that a peach tree produces sixty-six pounds of fruit, or that they do so for twelve years in a row. 

“Peach.” He confirms, a grin lighting up his face.

Akaashi hums in approval before he’s ushering Konoha out of the second year classroom.

**_————_ **

Bokuto finally gets the chance to properly compare hands with Akaashi just before the third years graduate.

They’re being instated as captain and vice-captain, and Akaashi looks like he’s going to lose his mind the longer the soon to be ex-captain speaks to them about their responsibilities. At least, it looks like he will to Bokuto, who stares at him a little too long to be comfortable, but long enough to notice the tense lines of his shoulder and the tightness of his lips. He’s fidgeting. Bokuto wants to say something about it, to tell Akaashi not to worry, but he doesn't want to interrupt their coaches.

So just before they start up practice again, Akaashi now fiddling with his taped - because they’re taped today - fingers in front of his stomach, he demands they compare hands.

He was very right but also very wrong. 

Bokuto had forgotten people grew, but he’s always with Akaashi so it’s not something he noticed, because he’s grown too, bulked up a bit too and he’s very proud of that. Now, now that he’s got his hand perfectly aligned with the base of Akaashi’s palm, pressed firmly against the somehow cold skin he sees it more clearly than ever. 

The ace bawks, finding that Akaashi’s fingers are a little longer, just enough to close over his own fingers, his hand a little wider than he remembers and he doesn’t know why he’s both furious and flustered by this, but Akaashi seems unfazed by Bokuto’s shenanigans except for the tiny little flush on his cheeks. He’s not looking at him, staring at their hands, trailing up his arm and bicep before they flicker away, to the rest of the team in the gym, half ignoring half watching them with rapt attention because of course Bokuto is doing something silly and nonsensical, before Akaashi’s eyes fall back on their hands, gunmetal blue a little livelier than Bokuto expects, and it’s entrancing.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs, and the boy in question notices that the setter is shuffling nervously, unable to fidget outside the twitching of his free hand the longer it goes on. “Are you satisfied?” His voice is monotonous but he refuses to look him in the eye and Bokuto can't help but find it kind of cute, happy he might have managed to even _fluster_ Akaashi.

Instead of answering, he interlocks their fingers, making a noncommittal noise in response. It’s another few seconds of strained silence until he recalls that they have spiking practice, that Akaashi could be sending him very nice, very perfect, just-for-Bokuto-san-tosses right now, with his admittedly very nice, very perfect setter hands. Still reluctant to let go, Bokuto tightens his hold on Akaashi’s hands and drags him towards the third court, where they had set up to start their practice before they’d been called by their coaches to discuss their new positions.

Only when they’ve reached the trolley full of volleyballs does he finally let go of the setters hands, grinning wide as he notes the faint blush on Akaashi’s otherwise blank face, and loudly demands he get the best and strongest tosses.

Akaashi has yet to say no to him.

**_————_ **

Unfortunately, the tiny new bit of information does nothing to satiate Bokuto.

He finds the only time he isn’t blatantly staring, as Konoha had so kindly put it, is when he’s being distracted by someone or something else, or Akaashi is holding his careful, polite posture with his hands settled behind his back and out of Bokuto’s direct line of site. 

Bokuto couldn’t stop thinking of Akaashi’s pale hands, worn from years of volleyball and violin-plucking and nervous habits. Found he paid more attention to the way he held a pencil, loose and careful as he tapped it against the book than he did the chemistry question Akaashi had been kind enough to explain. The guilt is easy to dismiss when Akaashi snorts after the third time he had to repeat it, more amused than upset. Knows he shouldn’t be caught up in the way he bit his nails to near stubs, and then brandished a nail file as if to make up for it, making them look rounded and perfect. He always let them grow a little before he repeated the cycle, as if it made him anxious to do anything but. Bokuto recalls nearly losing it when the setter had apparently bitten too far, and wound up shoving his finger in his mouth to rid of the blood, not a hiss of pain as he pulled it back, shiny and slick with spit. He taped his fingers that day. Even as they stretched, Akaashi’s fingers elongated as they reached for his toes or the sky, Bokuto couldn’t help but stare at them.

The fixation doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s hard to avoid, with the way Bokuto stares, and he knows the way he tends to reach for Akaashi’s hands before or after practice just to hold them, feel the way the calluses brush against his own is strange. Akaashi has yet to say anything, not seeming to mind after the first few times, instead fiddling with Bokuto’s own fingers in the meantime.

It’s Yukie who brings it up one lunch, when Bokuto has spent the better part of it staring at Akaashi’s fingers drumming a quiet and inconsistent rhythm against the desk he sits at, barely paying attention to the conversation. Her mouth is still full when she says, “Are you ever going to stop staring at his hands?” unperturbed by Bokuto’s guffawing.

“Yes! No? Yes?” Bokuto splutters, straightening suddenly. “‘Kaashi said I couldn’t hold his hands all the time! What else am I supposed to do?”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi hisses, his hands falling back to his lap as he sighs, shaking his head and Bokuto has to ignore the flicker of disappointment as he draws his eyes back up to meet his, the same way Akaashi ignores his indignant, “What?!”

“I’m surprised Akaashi managed to say no,” Washio murmurs, shoving rice in his mouth to hide his grin when the aforementioned boy shoots him a look. It’s very pointed, and Bokuto would hate for it to be directed at him, but is undeniably curious about what it means.

He has no time to ask; Yukie is swiping his half-finished bento box away from him before he gets the chance.

**_————_ **

Sitting in his bedroom with Akaashi isn’t new. It’s the first time they do it without intending to finish homework or plan out a strategy for the volleyball club but it isn’t new. 

What _is_ new is the nail polish Bokuto flaunts the second he comes back in the room, a self-satisfied grin on his face, eyebrows raised as he waits patiently for Akaashi to react. The only real response he gets is a crooked eyebrow and a hum of acknowledgement, one that says, _‘I’m waiting,’_ without Akaashi ever having to actually speak the words. The expectant look is much more attractive than it should be.

So Bokuto scrambles to sit right beside the setter, their shoulders brushing as he squeezes in on the low table, happy to be so near to him without the rest of the team to watch them and setting the polish down. It’s a simple, black bottle, no actual detail or logo on it but when Akaashi picks it up, he still examines it as if there might be more indication as to what Bokuto wants him to do with this.

“It’s nail polish,” he states, grinning again.

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sets it back down on the table, returning his focus to the ace, head tilted to the side in question. “Did you want me to paint your nails?” He asks, and Bokuto laughs, shaking his head.

“I want to paint _your_ nails, ‘Kaashi! I was thinking about how you always bite your nails, and with the interhigh coming up you’ve been doing it a lot more than usual, y’know? It’s bad for you! So I asked my mom what _she_ would do, and she told me it’s probably stress and that nail biting is the least of your problems but you were bleeding last week! That worried me, ‘Kaashi, so she said ‘get him to paint his nails’ and I thought that was weird but I guess she does it to keep herself from biting her nails because the varnish is gross and not good for you to digest, and apparently Yua, Himari and Daisuke - you know, my sisters and brother - do it so it couldn’t hurt to try! Unless you don’t want to of course, then we can try something else.”

Bokuto finishes with a big breath, looking back down to find Akaashi looking at him wonderstruck, and he beams at him because that’s _good,_ Akaashi probably likes this. He didn’t see that sort of expression on his face often, and his vice captains hands weren’t even twitching as he sat there and listened. It amazes him, sometimes, how willingly he listens to him despite half the nonsense that escapes his mouth.

All he receives is another hum though, and a gentle, “Okay, Bokuto-san, you can paint my nails. Please be careful.” and that’s all the approval he really needs.

He stands quickly, gathering a few pieces of paper towel from the roll sitting on his messy desk and dropping back beside Akaashi, rolling up his sleeves as he sets everything up. He’s practiced this with his mother and sisters after they gave him the idea, not wanting to mess up on his friend. It was fun, and Bokuto is confident now that he can do it without any grand margin of error, so he sets to it immediately, holding out his hands for Akaashi’s, happy when he drops it on his own. He takes a few seconds to enjoy the weight in his hands, smiling down at the limb before he glances back up.

“Stay still please!” He instructs, and Akaashi makes an affirmative noise as he begins. 

It’s easier, now, and as he applies a generous coat, he takes note of how well manicured Akaashi’s nails look again. Bokuto figures he filed them during the school day, to keep them from breaking weirdly and he appreciates it.

Truly, he wouldn’t have minded doing it himself, but it makes this move along faster, and he can take the time to appreciate Akaashi’s hands instead. They’re still in his grip, but Bokuto can see the way the prominent veins in his hands flex. They’re weirdly cold, and his knuckles a little red and bruised, likely from his worrying, but he isn't surprised by it, finds it suits him, even.

Overall, his hands are pretty, even with the few crooked fingers that are probably the result of a too-strong block or a wrongly received ball, years of volleyball written all over them. It makes him fond to think of Akaashi’s dedication to the sport, as he finishes applying the lacquer on his best friend, capping the bottle once he’s finished to avoid spills his mother would later kill him for.

Akaashi sits and stares at his now black painted nails, but he doesn’t seem offended or disgusted, and Bokuto believes he did very well, but the other boys quiet little, “Thank you,” clarifies this, with a small, Akaashi-brand smile that has his eyes closing just the slightest that has Bokuto's heart stuttering.

He beams, grabbing a painted hand careful not to ruin his work, blowing on the drying liquid before kissing the inside of his palm, warm from the prolonged contact with his own.

Over the weekend they spend at his house, Akaashi doesn’t bring his fingers up to his mouth, and the paint doesn’t chip whatsoever. His little sisters fawn over it, and Bokuto’s mom is quick to tell Akaashi about the many screw-ups that had come before he had any sort of coordination with a tiny brush.

It’s fun and easy with Akaashi and his family, and when Monday rolls around, the team is amused by their captains boasting regarding their setters nails, even though Akaashi himself is hesitant to show the others. He maintains it perfectly, taping his fingers to avoid ruining the hard work, going over a week without picking at his nails, especially when Bokuto grabs his hands to look at it, to see if Akaashi has been biting when he wasn’t looking.

Kaori even offers Bokuto her compliments at a job well done; he can’t help the way his chest puffs up at that. He goes so far as to grab Akaashi’s hands, wanting to show some of the girls he’s friends with in his class, despite the tiny whine of protest from the man in question, even though it fades into a sigh of disbelief.

**_————_ **

During their first training camp with Karasuno, whenever they find themselves on break, Bokuto will take Akaashi’s hand in his own and fiddle with the tips of his fingers. It’s relaxing, and their team has elected to ignore it, so he thinks it’s okay, and it helps Akaashi calm down a little more when he catches himself in his head. It’s a win-win, in his book.

On top of that, with the training camp has come even more excuses to touch Akaashi’s hands, to see them in action.

He likes how adept his kouhai is at wrapping fingers in the sports tape, always correcting Bokuto’s method without a hitch in his movements. The numerous amount of high fives boosts his morale as much as the team's praises do but the increase in touchiness is what really does it for him.

Even Bokuto knows that when he’s with Kuroo, his partner in crime he’s a lot louder, a lot more troublesome with someone to fool around with. The introduction of Karasuno’s first year shrimp with the awesome jump only serves to boost his ego and potential shenanigans, his enthusiasm on par with Bokuto’s own. Overall, it’s a bit more chaotic than the previous training camps and Akaashi seems to be battling his inattention with quiet touches to his shoulders and his biceps, gentle tugs at his shirt, so much as grabbing his hand to drag him away from a prank he could have pulled off.

Though the fleeting touches are nice, it doesn’t stop Bokuto’s mind from idling to more solid cases. His thoughts drift to holding Akaashi’s hands, interlocking their fingers like he did the first time whilst he watches the setter drink, a firm grasp on his bottle, index finger tapping a steady beat. They wander once he sees Akaashi mess up his own already messy hair for the sixth time in a row, wishing he knew how it felt to have those hands drag through his hair, thinks that Akaashi playing with his hair would feel particularly nice. As he grazes his hand over his arm in support after a lost match, he finds himself daydreaming of the feeling of Akaashi’s hands on his back, or his hips, or his chest, of his own hands on Akaashi too. Bokuto thinks the pressure would feel nice, wonders if Akaashi would be a little uncertain at first, as he can be at times.

Kuroo pulls him out of one of these daydreams with a hard, rough smack against his back, an all-knowing smirk on his already sly face. Kuroo deliberately moves his eyes elsewhere, and Bokuto, the fool that he is, follows his gaze.

He can’t really say he’s surprised when his eyes fall on Akaashi, talking to Karasuno’s first year setter, fiddling with his fingers and occasionally gesturing, as if to show an example. Kuroo likely noticed him staring in their general direction in the first place and sought to call him out for it, and Bokuto knows why. Kageyama Tobio is looking at Akaashi with an astounding amount of awe, and Bokuto understands completely, watching as Akaashi talks with his usual anxious confidence, only faltering once in a while. Bokuto feels himself sigh.

“Want to go eat? Or would you rather stare at your precious kouhai?” Kuroo muses, crossing his arms as he side-eyes his friend. “Other teams are already starting to line up.”

Bokuto doesn’t miss the invitation. There's the tiniest part of his brain shouting _'stare!'_ but it is their lunch break and _really,_ he should be eating. Usually he eats with Akaashi. He’s been waiting for the past five minutes for the two setters to finish, but Bokuto is certain that Kageyama is just too excited to be talking to a national level setter for his questions to slow down, and Bokuto doesn’t want to interrupt them.

Of course, he knows Akaashi will still worry if he disappears without a word, so he grins at Kuroo instead, standing up and shouting a tired, _“Hey, hey hey!”,_ as he drops a portion of his weight on his setter, watching Kageyama bow with their sudden presence. “Kuroo and I are gonna head to lunch, okay ‘Kaashi? Come find us when you’re done!” He orders, reaching down to squeeze Akaashi’s rough hands as he moves back, “You too Kags! Don’t be afraid to join us!” The declaration is loud, as they’re already halfway across the gym, and Kuroo is grabbing him in an all too familiar headlock he tries to wrestle out of.

Lunch is nice. Kuroo is fun to be around, even with some of the Nekoma and Karasuno members crowding the table. He manages to eat his own two servings and a portion of Kenmas, despite Kuroo’s protests, although the boy in question is too distracted by his significantly tinier boyfriend. Yaku has yelled at him twice for spitting out half his rice already.

He’s glad he didn’t wait to come eat, a lot of the energy surrounding the campus is fun and revitalizing, and there’s a lot of screams of laughter and whatever suffering Hinata is enduring that makes him laugh. It’s bright, Komi hasn’t made fun of him once yet for choking on his food, too busy peering over Kenma’s shoulder to watch the game he’s playing. He happily shoves an onigiri in his mouth as he listens to Kuroo and Yaku talk about how they’ve improved, watches the way they interact with horribly contained amusement until Akaashi comes into the cafeteria with Kageyama trailing behind him.

“Kuroo-san, Yaku-san. I hope Bokuto-san didn’t cause any trouble.” Akaashi says once he’s made his way to them. Kageyama had left to find his own teammates, and Bokuto couldn’t help his loud, indignant, _“Hey!”,_ even as he smiles at the other. He shifts to the side, shoving Kuroo closer to Yaku and consequently closer to matching the colour of his Nekoma jacket as he makes space for Akaashi.

The boy sits, immediately plucking the ongiri from Bokuto’s plate, and the captain would have been offended had that not been the exact reason for the three extra rice balls in his plate in the first place.

“He only choked four times,” the exasperation in Yaku’s voice is funny, especially as he half-shoves Kuroo off the bench to respond to Akaashi, his grin wide, but Bokuto can’t help but whine in protest because _yes,_ it’s _true,_ but he was just excited and happy and couldn’t Yaku have helped spare a fellow third-years reputation? “So not much trouble.”

Akaashi hums in contemplative acknowledgement, eyes flickering back to Bokuto for a split second before he smiles around a mouth full of rice, swallowing quickly. Bokuto mindlessly wipes off the flecks of rice that still sit at the corners of his mouth, and Akaashi doesn’t hesitate to poke fun at him as he says, “Only four? It’s an improvement from this morning. Good job Bokuto-san.” And Bokuto knows he’s being made fun of but the deadpan, sarcastic praise still manages to make warmth swarm his chest.

Towards the end of training camp, a hand braces itself between his shoulder blades. It’s firm and sure, a silent request to move forward. Bokuto knows it’s due to his sulking, and this being their last game for the day he’s certain the others want it over with, but the slump in shoulders isn’t just going to _go away._ The hand is familiar though, he knows it’s Akaashi’s because of the way it spread over his jersey, and he’s memorized the weight of it for far too long. He thinks he’d be more appreciative any other time for the solid touch and- no, he _is_ appreciative but it really just makes him want to whine and sulk more, especially since Akaashi is just pushing him out of his spot in the lineup at the moment. Talk about cold.

The irritation and coinciding sadness that comes with his shortcomings swims in his chest, and he can feel himself slipping to some sort of depressive episode he knows his teammates have dubbed his _‘emo mode’_ , and he supposes they’re right, to be honest.

But before his mood swing has the chance to hit its peak and ever so devastating decline, he feels a hand on his back again, but this time it’s higher up, fingers glancing off his sweaty neck and Akaashi’s gentle sigh has him tensing. The rally’s about to start, but his mind short-circuits at the careful touch because they’re somehow still cold and press firmly but so gently into his skin that nothing else really feels important. Even the calluses are familiar at this point.

“Bokuto-san,” It doesn’t occur to him how close Akaashi actually is until he practically speaks into his ear, “If you can win this game for us, you can hold my hand for as long as you want.” A shiver runs through him, and he glances at Akaashi’s deadpan expression, only interrupted by the slight twitch of his lip and he feels himself grin just as the ref blows the whistle.

Apparently, that’s enough encouragement for him. A rush of energy sizzles through his veins and he’s moving again, calling for the ball where he can and picking up as many receives as possible, assuring they win the game two-straight sets that earns him cheers and happy grunts from his teammates, who swarm him as always and clap him and Akaashi on the shoulder for their teamwork, and the two of them repay the sentiment in kind. They beat out all the teams in total game-wins, and that feels incredibly good to Bokuto, reminding him that they really are just that amazing.

As soon as they finish lining up and rehydrating, Bokuto makes a grab for Akaashi’s hands, and for once, the other boy doesn’t hesitate to let him do so, even though their palms are sweaty and it’s probably very gross to be holding hands right now.

It feels right though, and he continues to think so every time he grabs Akaashi’s hands during the barbeque and the final goodbyes, thinks of how phenomenal it feels to hold his hand properly, feel the bony knuckles and the leather-worn calluses against his skin. Akaashi doesn’t seem to mind either, being so lax as to let him continue his usual ministrations when they sit together on the bus, the younger setter eventually falling asleep on his shoulder while Bokuto ran a finger over his palm.

Once they’re finally back at school, and the coaches have given their usual speech, just before they all go home, Bokuto makes sure to pull Akaashi aside.

“Date me,” he says, breathless from the exhilaration thrumming through his skin. His mind is still on hyper-drive, whatever leftover energy from the day still buzzing through him, providing with enough courage to do nearly _anything_ right now. “Be my boyfriend.” He adds, as if Akaashi, smart, studious, _wonderful_ Akaashi would need the clarification but Bokuto’s mind is running on adrenaline so he’s not really thinking about that. 

“Is this about your thing with my hands, Bokuto-san? You do know the difference between infatuation and actual…” Akaashi trails off, but still gives him a pointed look, as if to say this isn’t something he should be taking lightly.

And truthfully, Bokuto feels a bit like a kicked puppy at that, because, okay, _yes,_ at first it have been admiration and infatuation, and he can’t really tell when it went from being just about Akaashi’s tosses and Akaashi’s hands to just _Akaashi,_ but he knows he’s feeling very strongly, strong enough to surpass his usual moods for it to be nothing more than infatuation. He tells Akaashi this, lets himself ramble because he loves Akaashi’s hands and his tosses, but he also loves all the little habits he found out, the way he fidgets and laughs, and worries, always thinking about the team and how he’s _polite,_ and kind, ever so kind even when Bokuto is being difficult and maybe even unreliable.

“You’re wonderful, Koutarou.” Akaashi cuts him off, sounding like everythings been knocked out of him, and Bokuto feels his breath stutter at the sound of his name falling from Akaashi’s lips. He likes that. He likes that _so much,_ he likes Akaashi _so much._

“Is that a yes?” He asks, because he has to be sure and his mind isn’t exactly clear whilst he’s floating on cloud nine.

Bokuto worries he might just shoot through the stratosphere when Akaashi nods his confirmation, noticing the blush on his cheeks, spreading right to his ears. It’s _cute,_ and Bokuto doesn’t hesitate to say as much because he’s always been honest, but now he can be _extra honest,_ because Akaashi is his boyfriend. He feels like his smile might just split his face at the thought, bouncing a bit on his heels, unwilling to let go but needing to move somehow.

“If we’re dating, does that mean I can hold your hand whenever I want?” Bokuto asks, bringing said hands up to his face to examine them, his grin broadening when he sees that they’re a bit flushed too.

A flicker of worry passes over Akaashi’s face as he stresses, “I still need to use my hands most of the day. Please remember that,” he sighs when Bokuto pouts, “but yes… you’re also allowed to kiss me.” he murmurs.

For a moment, he blinks, surprised by the sudden burst of boldness as his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) steps closer, and the hopeful look in his eyes is enough to spur Bokuto to do just that, leaning down to capture Akaashi’s mouth in a kiss. It’s a bit messy and uncoordinated, but Bokuto could care less, knows his smile isn’t helping to make this easier but Akaashi is smiling too so when they pull away, he laughs loud and happy.

It’s the perfect end to his week, and with Akaashi’s fingers interlocked with his own, he thinks it’s perfectly fine that his hands are smaller than Akaashi’s. It gives Bokuto more of him to love.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to my lovely betas, mica and aj.  
> i have MAJOR bokuaka brainrot so despite the three others fics i am currently writing, this was the first thing i completely finished. also. i like hands.  
> bother me on twit i guess, @ ph0ques


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